The Troubles of Kings
by An Odd Ducky
Summary: By the time the company reaches Mirkwood, Thorin Oakenshield is going insane with the indecent thoughts of a certain hobbit that his mind keeps conjuring. He thinks he has a solution, but the plans of kings do not always go as expected, and hearts are difficult things to understand, especially when you don't know your own. Fill for the Hobbit Kink Meme.


It was the curls, Thorin supposed, the silky brunette curls that tickled the back of the hobbit's neck, glowing lightly in the late spring sunshine. Or perhaps it was the soft look of his skin; the way his jaw stayed smooth and hairless without shaving, begging Thorin to brush a thumb along it. Or maybe it was simply the cut of his coat, captivating in the way it clung to his waist and highlighted the gentle curve of his backside as he walked.

The reasons really didn't matter. The only thing that really mattered was that Thorin wanted; wanted more than he realized he could want. The halfling had awoken something strange and powerful in him, something that caused him to grow flushed and quickened his breath when he all but caught a hint of Bilbo's scent carried to him on the breeze.

Thorin had known desire, but never before had it had a face. He recognized the signs of his body's natural need, and took care of it, so that he could return to his responsibilities with a clear mind. Even without the prestige of his birthright, consorts would never be difficult to find. Gold and ale are not the only pleasures dwarves liked to overindulge in.

But here, traipsing through the countryside and over mountains, there were no opportunities to feed his flaming desire. Hours of trekking each day made for ample time to get lost in daydreams, but no time to act upon them. Even at the end of the day, as he lay in his bedroll and stared up at the solitary moon, he found himself too tired to attempt taking the edge off with his own hand. And even if he had the energy for such things, it would not bode well for him to have one of the company accidentally catch their king in such a vulnerable moment.

The problem, of course, was that the longer Thorin went without sating his desires in the manner his body was accustomed to, the more it seemed to turn against him. It was this reason that Thorin told himself whenever he began to question why his need suddenly brought the hobbit to the forefront of his mind time and time again, when before it had only ever been faceless figures. His mind and body were working together to play tricks on him, that was all. The halfling was simply the closest thing to a female figure that his mind could find in their ragtag company.

The flaw in this reasoning - and it was a flaw that Thorin was very pointedly ignoring at the moment - was that Bilbo didn't actually bear any resemblance to a dwarven woman at all. Certainly, he was small and fair and acted with a gentle manner, but even the most feminine of dwarf women were none of these things. They, like their male counterparts, were built for mining the mountains, and also for the rigors of making and birthing strong dwarven children. Their hair was as course and prolific as any male's, their skin rough and thick, and there was no need for manners and meekness in the mighty halls of dwarven strongholds, when being straight-forward and strong-minded would earn your more respect, and better results. They were indeed forces to be reckoned with, and Thorin admired them for it. Bilbo couldn't have been farther from Thorin's previous string of trysts if he had been acting that way intentionally...so the fact that Thorin's mind lingered for too long on the rosy tint of the hobbit's lips was a fact that Thorin would sooner push to the back of his mind, and hope it disappeared.

As might be expected, the dwarf's preoccupation with their smallest companion did not go away, and indeed only grew worse as spring grew into summer and summer faded into autumn, progressing from little observations of the hobbit's twinkling eyes into outright fantasies of Bilbo bathing in a mountain stream. He had thought, when he heard their burglar trying to sneak away and head back to Rivendell in the night, that the inappropriate thoughts that haunted him (and they really were haunting him at this point, forcing Thorin to hide his pink-tinted cheeks each time he dared look at the halfling) might go back to the elf-city with him. It was only after the company had escaped from Goblintown and discovered Bilbo missing that Thorin realized with a stabbing regret that his unrequited fantasies of the hobbit were not only still present, but now even more painful than before, poisoned with the knowledge that he truly wouldn't get to act on them.

He lashed out in his misplaced grief; bitter at Bilbo, when he knew full well the halfling had no intentional part in destroying Thorin's every waking thought. But as quickly as Thorin's realizations had turned sour, they were redeemed again when the hobbit returned, giving Thorin a second chance to find some small reparation for both his indecorous daydreams and his angry words. Thorin knew - knew as soon as he heard Bilbo's voice speak as he caught up to them, what he would have to do to rid himself of his consuming fantasies. He could only hope that the hobbit would be willing, when the opportunity presented itself. As tortuous as his thoughts had become, Thorin refused to force Bilbo into anything, even if it was the only way to cure his mind.

Of course, Thorin should have realized that luck would be against him, because as soon as he had decided on this course of action, opportunities to actually follow through with it were even scarcer than before. If they weren't being chased and cornered by Orcs, they were being rescued by giant eagles and left in the care of strange bear-men. By the time they had waved goodbye to Gandalf and set foot into Mirkwood with instruction to _not leave the path_, Thorin was certain he wouldn't have a moment alone with the hobbit until after they had reclaimed Erebor, and would simply have to face his fire-breathing foe with images of Bilbo's bare chest at the forefront of his mind.

The close quarters they were forced into by the narrow path were the least of their worries in this dark place, the company soon discovered. They pushed on until the overpowering darkness forced them to stop each night, wanting only to get through the forest as quickly as they could, but still it stretched on endlessly. There wasn't much of a point to posting a night guard, since the only things visible in the pitch black were the glistening eyes that never crossed the path, but they posted one anyway, silently hoping that it would bring them enough reassurance that they might get a few hours of fitful sleep, content in the knowledge that there was someone besides whatever evil lurked in the trees watching over them.

When the company finally did manage to drift off, one at a time, even the snores that usually surrounded them seemed subdued and hushed, afraid to break the foreboding silence of the forest. It made things all the harder for the lone figure left to keep watch, because the snores at least would have given them something to navigate by in the absolute blackness pressing in, and perhaps would have alerted the guard had any of his generally loud companions gone missing in the night and left behind naught but silence. As it was, when Thorin finally gave up his feeble attempts to rest and began to carefully pick his way over to where Bilbo sat up and awake, gazing out at nothing but the occasional flash of angry eyes, Thorin's outstretched hand bumping blindly into the hobbit's shoulder caused the little burglar to gasp abruptly and nearly fall over in shock.

"Rest easy, Master Hobbit; it's only me," Thorin whispered with some amusement, knowing the hobbit would recognize his voice.

"Thorin!" Bilbo exclaimed in quiet relief. "I thought the forest had finally made it onto the path!"

"I did not mean to startle you," the dwarf replied. "I only came to take over the watch. You should go get some rest with the others."

"Is it time already?" Bilbo asked, brushing the wrinkles from his clothes as he stood slowly. He looked back toward where the rest of their company was curled around each other - at least, he thought it was that direction...Even his keen hobbit eyes couldn't actually see anything in the ever-present dark except the subtle shine of Thorin's eyes next to him. He hesitated, suddenly reluctant to leave.

"Is something wrong, Master Baggins?" came Thorin's quiet words after a moment.

"Oh. No, no, nothing's wrong," Bilbo flustered, keenly aware of the dwarf's eyes on him in the dark, even if the elder couldn't actually see him. Then, after a beat, "It's just that it's quite dark, you see, and even if I manage to find my bedroll in this confounded black without tripping off the path, I'm sure I might trod on someone's nose in the process."

Thorin was silent for a moment. "You're welcome to stay here with me while I keep watch, if you like," he said finally, and Bilbo heard the shift of furs and fabrics as the dwarf settled down.

Bilbo bit his lip, indecisive. It wasn't that he didn't like the dwarf's company - quite the opposite, really. Thorin puzzled him, in a way, and frightened him in others, but Bilbo found with every passing day that a thread of something new was growing between them, connecting them in an odd sort of endearment to each other that both parties seemed cautious of, but that neither really wanted to discourage. It was friendship, and respect, and understanding, but it also held in it a tension. Bilbo felt it in the way his eyes always seemed to find Thorin in the crowd of dwarves, and the way he suddenly became aware of every little movement of his body when Thorin drew close, and the inexplicable desire to follow when the dwarf pulled away. Bilbo didn't really know what to make of it.

A twig snapped not far from the path at Bilbo's back, and the hobbit jumped again, whirling around and searching wildly through the night, but there was nothing there, not that he could see. He let out a slow exhale to calm himself and his eyes flicked to Thorin's, watching Bilbo with the same pregnant expression they always were, so full of unspoken words. Bilbo cleared his throat nervously before finally settling down next to Thorin. "Yes, well, I suppose here is as good as there," he said, shivering as a pair of yellow eyes blinked at him in the darkness. "I know they say strength lies in numbers, but in this case, I think I'd prefer to stay with you."

"You trust me, then?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo could still feel him watching.

"Of course I do," he said, as though it should have been obvious.

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Thorin spoke again, and his voice was edged with a strange regret, and hinted of warning. "Perhaps you would do better not to. My thoughts are not always of the purest intentions..." Thorin's eyes were so earnest in the dark that Bilbo had to look down, his heart twisting in such an unfamiliar way.

The quiet settled around them in earnest then, and Thorin lost himself to his brooding, grateful that the darkness made invisible each twitch of his hand as it fought to reach out and touch the hobbit. It was their first real opportunity for a private conversation in weeks, but Thorin was not prone to speaking when he had nothing to say, and everything he wanted to whisper to Bilbo in the shroud of night was better said with trailing fingertips and heated kisses, not words.

"...I see you looking, you know. I see the way you look at me," Bilbo spoke some time later, breaking the silence between them. Thorin's eyebrows rose as he gazed sidelong at where he knew the hobbit to be, but Bilbo's eyes were averted, downcast.

"And how is that?" he asked with feigned coolness.

"Like you're waiting," Bilbo answered, and his eyes found Thorin's at that. "Like you're waiting for me to do something, or say something, and you're afraid of what that something might be."

"Did I not tell you already how wrong I was about you? Did we not make amends?" Thorin asked, thinking the hobbit referred to their previous misunderstanding after their escape from the goblins.

"Yes, of course. I don't mean like that," he replied. "I...I mean that you look at me like you're waiting for permission."

"I am the king of my people, Master Hobbit," Thorin replied, suddenly sullen. "I do not ask for the permission of others; others ask for mine."

Bilbo gave him a knowing look in the darkness. "Unless the thing you desire is not yours to claim," he countered.

"And what do you know of my desires?" said Thorin. He was more anxious to know the answer to his question than he would admit, even to himself.

"Like I said," Bilbo said with a little shrug of the shoulders. "I've seen you watching."

Thorin realized then that the hobbit's words were true. He was waiting, and not just for the opportune moment. He was waiting for Bilbo to respond to his unspoken proposition, waiting for him to give some sign that he too felt their odd connection, and wanted to follow it.

"And if I was seeking permission," Thorin asked, "What would you say?"

Bilbo let the question float in the air between them for a moment as they sat, eyes locked. "I would say that you're a king, and you needn't ask," he answered quietly, turning Thorin's words back on him. What he didn't say, of course - what he was afraid to say out loud - was that he really meant "my king," because it was clear to Bilbo now that no matter what this was that he and Thorin were dancing around, it was undeniable that the hobbit had already pledged himself to the dwarf. He would serve Thorin as long as the king wanted him.

"Are you saying...?" Thorin trailed off, and Bilbo felt him shift closer in the dark, his fingers brushing up against Bilbo's smaller ones. Thorin didn't need to ask, but he did anyway.

"Yes," the hobbit said simply, glancing down shyly for just a moment before looking up again. "I'm saying yes."

Thorin sat frozen, the hope that had settled unbidden in his chest expanding and filling him with a strange euphoria. He took no time to contemplate its meaning, though, because Bilbo's eyes were blinking up at him, at last unguarded and filled with so much unbridled want that Thorin could barely think at all. The blackness pressed around them, and Thorin cursed the way it hid the hobbit from his sight, even if it offered them a kind of discreet privacy.

He reached out in the darkness, bringing his hand up to gently brush against Bilbo's cheek, finally tracing his fingers along the soft skin of his jaw just as he had dreamt of doing so many times. He could see nothing, not the soft blush that crossed Bilbo's cheeks at the touch, nor the rosy pink of his lips, nor gentle smile that quavering grew there. But he could feel it. He felt the warmth under his fingertips, felt the hobbit's jaw move as his tongue slipped out to lick his lips unconsciously, felt the twitch at the corner of his mouth and the way Bilbo leaned in to his hand.

It should have been unsatisfying, after so many weeks spent daydreaming about the way Bilbo looked, to not be able to actually see him in this moment, but in truth it was better than Thorin had ever expected it to be. Every sense was hyper-focused on the hobbit, seeing him in ways his eyes couldn't, and he couldn't stop himself from moving closer in the darkness. His other hand came up to map the planes of Bilbo's face along with the first, ghosting over the gentle curve of his nose, the barely-there tickle of his eyelashes on Thorin's fingertips. And when they slipped down to graze over Bilbo's neck as Thorin leaned ever closer, he could feel the rapid tremble of his pulse there, and the ghosting of Bilbo's breath against his own lips.

It was Bilbo that closed those last few inches, softly pressing his lips to Thorin's, mind reeling and trying to take in both the gentle way Thorin's lips cupped his own and the rough scratch of his beard against his skin. It was chaste, barely a brush, but it was electrifying in a way that nearly crippled them. The kiss felt like not enough and too much all at once, and when Bilbo pulled away, it was only to gasp in a breath before pressing forward again, his hands coming up to feel Thorin's face and pull him closer, encouraging him to claim what was his.

And claim Thorin did, lost in the intoxicating feeling of the things he had so long desired, and things he never knew he had wanted until this very moment. Bilbo's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and the hobbit smelled of earth and grass and autumn down deep in his skin, a scent that seemed foreign and too pure to be in this dark place, and it intoxicated Thorin. Thorin's tongue darted out to taste those kiss-swollen lips, slipping into the hobbit's mouth briefly before he twined his hands into Bilbo's sweeping curls and tugged gently. Bilbo's head fell back, and Thorin followed the line of his smooth jaw, tasting and grazing his teeth along the flushed skin.

Bilbo's breath was heavy; quiet gasps let loose into the night, and Thorin ran his tongue over the pulse point between the tendons of Bilbo's neck, feeling the frantic beat under his lips, stirring his passion further. Bilbo's fingers found Thorin's beard and stroked it carefully, reverently, in a way that made the dwarf wonder if he, too, had been daydreaming of this moment for far too long, and that thought made Thorin's chest expand painfully. Now that the moment was here, now that he was free to bury his face in the hobbit's neck and breathe in the scent that had taunted him on the breezes since springtime, Thorin didn't want to tear away Bilbo's clothes in a heated frenzy to rush toward relief. He wanted to slide off each layer slowly, finding all the secret places in Bilbo's tiny form and marking them with teeth and tongue until his mind had each divot and slope memorized, even without the help of his sight. He had time. The nights in the forest were long, and the darkness kept them hidden.

Bilbo's hands found his hair and slipped in, grasping lightly as tiny kisses fell along Thorin's hairline, and Thorin hummed a smile into his ear at the feeling. One arm slid behind Bilbo's back and gently guided him down to the forest floor, and Thorin covered him with his own body, elbows framing Bilbo's face. His hand reached out to brush unseen curls off Bilbo's forehead, and he kissed his lips again just because he could, and such a chance should not be wasted.

Bilbo let his hands slide over the dwarf's broad shoulders, pushing back the furs that covered them and smoothing over the shirt along Thorin's clavicle. Thorin let his eyes flutter closed at the timid touch, his final surrender to the currents coursing through him. He pressed his lips to the dip at the base Bilbo's throat, and they set about discovering every detail of each other.

Time is a funny thing in moments such as these. It often understands the needs of dwarves and hobbits in a way that they themselves can't comprehend, and while Thorin and Bilbo may not have understood what was truly occurring as they laid each other bare, slowly and carefully, layer by layer, _time _had been building to this climax for far longer than the unlikely pair could have known, ever intent in its purpose. When the hour finally came, carrying with it something so soft and sacred that the forest itself, in its wickedness, had to turn away, time blessed the lovers with the gift that no one notices - that is, it stopped, and let them cherish every touch, from the scratch of Thorin's beard on the inside of Bilbo's thigh, to the consuming heat when Thorin reached down to grasp them both in his hand and hold their velvety skin pressed together. For time itself will never end, and will only go on forever and ever creating these climactic moments likes waves cresting on the ocean. The only gift time has to give is the pause at the peak of each wave before it crashes down again; the perfect, infinite moment where all can be seen, if you know what to look for. This was such a moment for Bilbo and Thorin.

But even in daylight, not everything will be seen, and though Bilbo knew, recognizing it in the exact moment he gasped and fell over the edge, surrounded by the feel and smell and sounds of his dwarf, Thorin's eyes did not open, and his thoughts did not yet realize that his heart had been marked. But it was there, the tiny hobbit's thumbprint, so much more permanent than a fiery brand would have made it. Thorin felt it with each subtle brush of skin and lips as they lay curled together in the damp afterglow like spirits reborn. Bilbo knew the name of it, but was afraid to utter the word, and Thorin wouldn't have understood what it meant if he had, and it is in these misunderstandings that tears are so often born.

When their breath calmed once again and the inexplicable pull that kept them held together with gentle nuzzles and secret smiles had loosened enough for them to untangle their limbs, Thorin dressed Bilbo as reverently as he had undressed him, and lifted the dazed hobbit to carry him to his bedroll, pausing only to quietly shake Bofur awake for his turn at watch. He then settled down next to his burglar, pulling the soft fur over them and holding Bilbo close so that he could fall asleep with the steady thump of Thorin's lifeblood in his ear.

Thorin didn't pause to gaze blindly into the dark and contemplate the meaning of it all. He felt no need to worry about the days to come, as he thought his problem had been solved. What he didn't recognize was that bigger conflicts had already taken root in his life, and they carried with them a promise for hope or for anguish, and just which one it was remained to be seen. For now, they slept, curled tightly together with Thorin's nose pressed into Bilbo's hair. For now, everything was as it should be.

If Thorin were a wiser dwarf, he might have stopped a moment to study his feelings and understand what was happening. Instead, Thorin was a king preoccupied with the troubles of his people, and time given over to introspection of his own problems was not something he had to spare. As a result, in the days following the reverent hush of that night, Thorin turned sullen and snappish and even more brooding than he usually was, and the company did their best to simply stay out of his way.

For Thorin's maddening thoughts of Bilbo had _not_ disappeared as they ought to have - indeed, they had only gotten worse. Now that the deed was done, Thorin was not only tormented by thoughts of what had happened, but consumed with the desperate need to do it again, and it was a fact that angered him beyond reason. Always before now, his mind had cleared of its lustful haze when his body was satisfied, but for all his efforts to the contrary, his memories and fantasies of Bilbo continued to interrupt his rational thoughts and destroy his focus, leaving him ill-equipped to lead the company as they needed him to.

It occurred to him, at one point, that perhaps his body had simply not been satisfied with their time together. Certainly, it had been vastly different than the trysts he had had with dwarven women, heated and lewd and run throughout with frenzied fucking until Thorin collapsed and his consorts limped back to their own homes. But the idea of taking Bilbo that carelessly seemed so absurd to Thorin that he immediately dispelled the thought. Yes, he admitted to himself, he did want the hobbit again, wanted him most ardently, and so much so that his single-mindedness in finding the Arkenstone took on a hint of frivolity even in his own mind, when something so much more precious lay within his grasp. But he did not want Bilbo to bend and break at his careless hand for his own pleasure. To do that to the hobbit would be a terrible thing.

What Thorin found even more frustrating than his own mind's betrayal was the way things had changed between the two of them now. Bilbo stuck close to the other dwarves as they gave Thorin a wide berth, treading carefully to avoid angering their leader, but while the looks his kinsmen threw him were ones of confusion and misunderstanding, Thorin would catch Bilbo staring at him in a way that made him feel exposed, like Bilbo understood something about him that Thorin himself did not. It was a feeling that only angered Thorin further, as if someone knew a vital secret that they refused to tell.

To compound on that, whenever Thorin caught Bilbo staring and met his eyes, it was only a moment before Bilbo dropped his gaze. Each time, Thorin had the strangest itch under his skin to approach the hobbit and lift his chin again until he held the look, because as infuriating as it was that Bilbo saw things he could not, it was also intoxicating, and Thorin didn't want it to stop, wanted to search the hobbit's eyes until he could decipher the meaning there.

It was unfortunate indeed that Thorin didn't have the patience and humility to do just that, because it was undoubtedly a better solution than what he went with, which was to allow himself to grow increasingly and irrationally irritated with the halfling. Something as small as seeing Bilbo smile at Fili and Kili's playful bantering would set Thorin on edge, the resulting swell in his chest stamped down in bitter resentment when he found himself fixating on the happy creases at the edge of Bilbo's mouth. As a result, Bilbo seemed cautious of approaching him. While his mind told Thorin that this was good, that pushing Bilbo away was the only way to clear his mind of the hobbit, there was a part of him that very passionately disagreed.

Thorin's frustrations finally reached their apex one afternoon several days later. In an attempt to keep some good cheer in the face of their eerie surroundings, the company took to swapping stories as they walked, sharing tales of the adventures they had in younger years (which often lead to the dwarves each trying to outdo the others in the scale and grandeur of their exploits) or doing their best to embarrass each other with the other dwarves' mishaps and plans gone awry (which seemed especially the case with Fili and Kili). Bilbo listened raptly to each one, not having any real adventures of his own to contribute, but the little hobbit was a storyteller at heart, and it wasn't long before he, too, was sharing memories of days long since passed.

The dwarves, after their brief glimpse at the Shire months earlier, were curious about the area and the people that lived there, and Bilbo especially enjoyed sharing with them the horror of his relatives, the Sackville-Bagginses. Even if his stories hadn't carried with them a remarkable wit and charm (and they very decidedly did), the dwarves would have happily listened anyway. It was impossible to deny that despite their rocky start, Bilbo had very much been accepted into their ranks as one of their own and a joy to all (except, perhaps, to their leader). Bilbo's stories were fresh to their ears, unlike many of their own recycled tales, and Bilbo found in them a new audience that laughed and gasped at stories the hobbit-children had long since grown bored with. As a result, the dwarves were soon prompting Bilbo for his stories more than anyone else, and Bilbo was happy to oblige.

Of course, this only caused conflict for poor Thorin as he led the way through the forest. There was a part of him that delighted in Bilbo's stories just as much as the others did, although he was not so free in showing his amusement. More than once, though, he caught the mischievous twinkle in Bilbo's eyes, and his mouth twitched up at the corners as he tried to hide a smile behind his beard, the hobbit's grin only growing wider when he saw the telltale twitch of facial hair betraying Thorin.

But just as often, Thorin found himself driven half-mad by Bilbo's steady chatter. As if the pleasing timbre of Bilbo's voice didn't already affect Thorin in ways that it shouldn't, the stories Bilbo told felt like constant reminders of a very important fact that his mind was doing its best to ignore: Bilbo was a hobbit, and his heart was planted deep in the Shire's rolling hills, and when all of this was over, he would return again to Bag End with his treasure, looking on Thorin only in memory.

Finally Thorin could stand it no longer, and he cut Bilbo off halfway through a tale of his first ill-fated trip to the Green Dragon after coming of age. "Master Hobbit, perhaps it is time to put stories aside and focus on the task at hand. The forest grows ever more menacing around us," he said with a sullen glance at the storyteller.

"The forest is just as menacing as it's been since we first stepped on to this godsforsaken path, and nothing has happened yet!" Balin countered from the rear of the group. "Let the boy finish his story!"

Thorin bristled, teeth grinding in annoyance. "And it is not wise to let down our guard now, simply for a moment's amusement. I am the leader of this company, and if I say it's time to put away these foolish children's tales, then I expect my word to be heeded and obeyed!"

Bilbo stopped in his tracks at that, his furrowed brow creasing deeper in indignation. "Foolish children's..." he said disbelievingly. He threw Thorin a sour look before he resumed his pace. He grumbled something to the dwarves nearest him, something that sounded suspiciously like, "...don't see why he needs to be so rude about it."

Thorin turned, his shoulders squared and feet planted. The rest of the company stopped abruptly, unconsciously shifting away from the angry figure. "Need I remind you, Master Baggins, that your permission is not required, nor requested? It is I who leads this party, and my orders are not to be questioned by any of you, least of all a halfling worried more about manners and niceties than anything actually useful."

By this point the other dwarves had quickly shuffled back down the path, out of the line of fire as the two confronted one another. Bilbo felt Thorin's words like a slap to the face, but hobbits have tempers of their own that bare sharp teeth when dragged into the open, and Bilbo's was very much ready to bite back. "You seemed awfully concerned about my permission when you wanted my mouth around your cock, O Mighty King!" he flung back.

"ENOUGH! Do not speak to me of that night! A curse upon it for ever tricking me into such a mistake. I would have it gouged from my memory already if such things were possible," Thorin shouted, his fury almost tangible in the air around him. Bilbo's own rage began to ebb away as quickly as it had come, and he hesitated, deflating somewhat at what Thorin had said.

"Do you mean to tell me that that night - that what we did - it meant-"

"Nothing! It meant nothing! I have no time for insufferable hobbits who cannot even do the job they were brought along to do, who spend more time with their head in the clouds dreaming of holes in the ground than they do keeping their mind on the quest at hand. You are nothing but a distraction and a hazard, and you have caused enough trouble for us already. It was a mistake to bring you along, and it was a mistake to let you so tempt me that I disregarded my good sense."

Bilbo turned and walked quickly away before the words were even fully out of Thorin's mouth, and so great was his anger that Thorin refused to watch him go, his jaw set as he stared intensely into the thick underbrush of Mirkwood. After sucking in a shuddering breath in an attempt to settle his rage, he turned back to the company, expecting to find them all pointedly ignoring the argument that had just taken place, but each and every dwarf had their eyes trained on their leader, a scowl on every face. Stepping forward, Kili defiantly glared at Thorin as he made to walk past him and join Bilbo, but Thorin put out a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him, expression hard and challenging as they stared each other down. The dwarves behind him shifted restlessly, still shooting angry looks in Thorin's direction, and Kili looked about to shrug off Thorin's hand and keep going when Thorin's ears picked up the sound of a tiny, choked sob, and his head snapped around in surprise.

Bilbo had stopped down the path a ways, facing away from the company with arms tightly crossed and head hung, and as Thorin watched he saw the slightest shake of his small shoulders. Suddenly, every word he had hurled at Bilbo in anger came back and settled around his heart with a vice-grip, and he turned and purposefully walked to Bilbo, leaving Kili where he stood without a backward glance. He stopped a few feet behind the hobbit, but before he could work out how to say a word, Bilbo spoke, having sensed the dwarf come up behind him.

"Please don't," he said quietly, his quavering voice all the reprimand Thorin needed for what he had done. "Please just go away. You already think little enough of me, I'd really rather you didn't see me cry and lower your opinion further." His hands fluttered nervously, patting his pockets automatically as he sniffled. However, this seemed only to make matters worse as he sifted through each pocket without finding what he was searching for. Another choked sob escaped his lips and his hands dropped heavily to his sides, and he added in the smallest, most defeated voice Thorin had ever heard him use, "Especially when I don't even have a handkerchief to blow my nose." Bilbo finally seemed to really break at that, the bitter reminder of how foolish he was to have ever thought he could go on an adventure, and tears leaked freely from the corners of his eyes down to his chin. With a regretful look at the cuff of his sleeve, he brought it up to wipe at his nose, looking wholly ashamed as he did so.

Thorin was at a loss for what to say, his mouth opening and closing anxiously, a thousand apologies fighting to be spoken but none wanting to go first, but he did not walk away and leave to hobbit to cry alone. Bilbo spoke again, his voice growing increasingly stuffy in his distress.

"I miss my home," he told Thorin, "You're right; I miss the Shire. And I'm afraid that I might never see it again, that I might not make it back from this quest. But that's not even the worst of it, is it? It's the thought that if I left now and went back, it wouldn't feel the same as it did. Because Bag End isn't really my home anymore. It isn't. I've changed. I don't belong there...I don't really belong anywhere anymore."

Thorin's heart ached with those words, bringing back painful memories of the time right after his exile began when his own realization of that same thing was still new and raw. He reached out then, needing the reassurance of touching Bilbo as much as Bilbo needed the comfort of touch, but Bilbo stepped away, putting out a hand telling Thorin to stop. Now that he had begun speaking, he was determined to say everything. He finally turned to face Thorin, face full of sincerity and grief.

"When I go back, I'll always be listening for your laugh, seldom though it comes. I'll always be waiting for your touch to surprise me when I'm least expecting it. I'll always be putting off bedtime until I can't any longer, just so I don't have to be reminded that I'm going to bed alone. Because I realized something, the other night. I've fallen in love with you, Thorin Oakenshield. I don't know when it happened, or how, but I have. And I thought maybe you had fallen in love with me, too. It made me feel like having a home wasn't so very important after all, because I found somewhere to belong, and it wasn't a hole in the ground. It was with you. Beside you. But you don't want me. So I really don't belong anywhere at all." Bilbo's eyes dropped to the ground, and he wiped his nose on his sleeve again, still cringing a bit as he did it. "I'll just be saying my goodbyes and going, then," he finished forlornly, stepping past Thorin toward the group of dwarves standing back where they had left them.

A thousand different words rushed to his tongue to stop the hobbit. Only one made it out, but it carried with it the weight of so many more. "Bilbo."

Bilbo stopped and looked back at that, breath caught at his lips. Thorin had never said his name, not like that, like he had been saving it for a moment when he could treasure the sound of it on his lips. The dwarf's eyes were every bit as fierce as they had been only minutes before, but the anger there had been replaced with something new, something unguarded and honest.

Thorin didn't seem to know how to continue from there, but Bilbo could tell he wasn't finished. "Did it really mean nothing?" he asked Thorin in a tiny voice.

"No," Thorin gasped out with an intensity that made Bilbo believe it. He took a step forward, reaching down to take the hobbit's hands in his own. Bilbo looked down at his small fingers held between Thorin's stronger ones, and perhaps it should have looked foreign to him, hobbit hands held so reverently between dwarf ones, but it didn't. The sight made something in his chest unfurl and flex, only conscious of how unabashedly _right_ it looked. "It meant _everything_," Thorin said, finally finding his voice. "I was just too blind to see it."

Bilbo searched his eyes, desperately trying to decipher the things hidden there. Thorin cupped the side of his face in his hand and held his gaze, an open invitation to read the sincerity reflected there. "I'm so sorry, Bilbo," he whispered, and Bilbo's eyes widened slightly at that, because he had never heard Thorin say the words before, locked as they usually were behind his uncrumbling pride.

"Do you love me?" Bilbo asked, and the question crackled in the space between them. But Thorin knew what to say now, had finally found the answer to a question he hadn't thought to ask himself. He tilted Bilbo's face up and leaned in close to brush his answer against the hobbit's lips.

"More and more with each passing day," he whispered, and Bilbo felt the words settle in his heart. He met Thorin's lips then, hand coming up to feel the course hair at Thorin's jaw as they kissed. Suddenly the intensity that hadn't made sense that night in the dark seemed ridiculously obvious to Thorin, and he knew it to be the reason the hobbit had so captured his every thought. And the further realization that those thoughts were not likely to go away was there, too, but suddenly it didn't seem such a big problem anymore, not when he knew he could reach out and touch the hobbit whenever he liked until his desire was sated and happy.

"You have a habit of making a fool of me," Thorin told him, his voice a mixture of playfulness, and regret, and shame. And something new, also, something subtle that warmed Bilbo's spirit when he recognized it for what it was: love. And not a hidden love that lies in sad waiting to be recognized, but a love proudly and beautifully displayed.

"No," Bilbo corrected. "You have a habit of making a fool of yourself. I only point it out to you." A twinkling smile flickered onto his face as he said it, at odds with the tear tracks still glistening there. Thorin laughed at that, pulling Bilbo into his arms and swiping his tears away with the pad of him thumb. Bilbo closed his eyes at the contact, and when he opened them again, there was a nervousness there that Thorin wanted to kiss away. "Does this mean you don't want me to go?" Bilbo asked hesitantly.

"No, my hobbit, I don't want you to go. You will always be welcome at my side," Thorin replied and brushed his lips against Bilbo's forehead.

Bilbo was silent for a moment, heart pounding heavily in his chest. "Am I? Am I yours?"

"For as long as you want to be," Thorin told him, and thought they were the truest words to have ever left his tongue.

"That could be for a very long time..." Bilbo said softly, the anxiety in his face fading away when he saw Thorin's gentle smile looking down on him as if he'd never seen something so precious.

"Then I will thank the gods continually for every day I am given."

And so he did, until the day he died.


End file.
